by D C Macey
Helen sensed the change underfoot, looked down then back at Sam.
‘I’m struggling to lift my feet, Sam.’
‘I know; it’s not good.’ In only moments, the water had risen to ankle height. It was impossible to move.
A cry of triumph sounded behind them and Sam turned his head to see a man standing twenty paces off and looking down towards them from above the gully.
‘Stop!’ A pistol appeared from beneath the man’s jacket and pointed directly at Sam. ‘Stop, or you’re dead.’
Sam raised his hands; Helen raised hers too.
A movement close beside Sam’s head distracted him for a moment. The second man was standing right above them.
‘This is all a mistake,’ said Sam. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re looking for; whatever it is, you’ve got the wrong people. We’ve been out picking plastic litter.’
‘Yeah, right. How come we’ve just followed you from the sheltered housing complex? And how come our buddies who went in there after you left called to tell me the woman there gave you a bunch of pictures?’
‘So, give us the pictures, and you can go free. That’s all we want. I’m thinking you’d better hurry, or you’ll be having to swim out of here,’ said the second man.
Sam didn’t move. The man fired a shot, and a little spurt of water kicked up beside Helen’s boot.
‘The next one goes in her head. She’ll not get out after that, swimming or otherwise. Give my partner the pictures!’ He shifted his pistol’s aim, and Helen felt the malicious intent behind his attention.
‘I’m counting to three, then she’s gone. One …’
Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the packets of photographs. Stretching up, he passed them to the man who now knelt at the channel’s edge.
‘Good.’ The gunman relaxed slightly. ‘Now, let’s have a look-see. Bring them over.’ His partner hurried across the sand to hand over the prize.
‘Sam, I’m completely stuck. I can’t shift my feet at all.’
‘Me too. We just need to hold on for a moment. There’s nothing we can do until they go.’
‘They’ve got the pictures; what can we do?’
‘You two, stop chattering,’ shouted the gunman. They watched as he swapped the gun for the photographs. The second man swung round to cover them as the first took out his phone and made a call.
Stuck in the bottom of the channel, it was impossible to make out the conversation, but it was clear the gunman was making a report while he pinned his phone between shoulder and chin and used his hands to flick through the pictures.
The water was up to Sam and Helen’s calves; it would soon be lapping over the top of their boots.
‘Keep your legs and boots still, Helen, but work your feet so your heels are up inside your boots and you’re standing on tiptoes.’
‘Like being a couple of inches taller is going to save us.’
‘Keep your legs still. Trying to get out will just work you deeper into the sand. Right now, we are both stuck. Slowly, work your heels up. When the time comes, you can just push up and, I hope, rise up and leave your boots stuck to the bottom. Please, just do it.’
The silence told Sam that Helen was complying, while he too tried to work his heels up and free from the sole of the boots.
The gunman finished his call and reached out to take his gun back and return the sheaf of photos to his accomplice. Then he passed his phone over too. Sam and Helen saw him point towards them and saw the accomplice train the phone on them, presumably making a video record.
‘There’s good news and there’s bad news.’ He gave a little laugh and nudged his partner before bringing the pistol to bear. ‘The good news is our boss is very pleased with us, and he’s asked me to thank you for finding these pictures.’ He squinted across the pistol to his partner. ‘The bad news is I’m to shoot your lady friend so you can watch her bleed. And my boss says to tell the bitch he’s watching too. The only thing that could make this better is if he could pull the trigger. But at least he can enjoy the movie.’
‘No wait, let’s talk about it, please,’ said Sam.
‘No time for talking now. We want off the sands before our feet get wet too.’
He looked down into the channel where the water had now risen over Sam and Helen’s knees. ‘Pity we can’t stay to the very end, I’m thinking a drowning would have made a good ending to the video.’
Sam tried to sway his body in front of Helen but the gunman swayed too. His aim was careful. ‘Here it comes, baby. Get ready to cry.’
Sam waved his hands as a distraction; Helen knew what was coming and stared straight back at the gunman.
The pistol spat out a round and before they heard the report, the bullet had ploughed into Helen’s thigh just above the waterline. She cried out in pain, Sam roared in rage and the two men cheered as the phone captured the event.
Helen bent at the waist as her blood flowed out to redden the water around her.
All Sam could do was reach out a hand to steady and comfort her. He turned his head back to shout at the gunmen who continued to record the event.
‘You’re going live to the boss now; we’ll get one hell of a bonus for this job.’ Their elation was clear, their enjoyment palpable and their timing rubbish. Standing on the gully’s edge, their combined weight was a challenge too far for the sand supporting them. The inflowing tide had steadily softened the channel walls at the waterline.
The laughter stopped, replaced by cries of shock as the gully’s wall crumbled and the two men plunged into the channel, disappearing from view. Moments later, they resurfaced, waving arms and gasping. The phone was gone, the pistol was gone and the photographs quickly spread out and dispersed across the water before soddening and sinking.
Sam let go of Helen and delved into his pocket to pull out the empty plastic bags. He fluffed up the first one; flicked and rolled it to capture air them tied the open end tight, making an ungainly float. He repeated the process with the second bag.
The water was already above Helen’s waist, her face at water level as she bent down and used her hands to apply pressure to her leg wound.
‘Helen, can you hear me? Are your heels free? Get your heels free.’
She looked up and nodded. ‘They’re free, but Sam this hurts, I can’t stand up for much longer.’
‘You don’t need to. It’ll be hard, but just let go of your wound and lie back in the water. Kick your feet out of your boots then take these floats; you’ll be fine.’
‘My leg—’
‘I’ll deal with that as soon as you’re afloat. Just stay floating on your back. You’ll be fine. Trust me, Helen; do it now.’
Helen nodded, took a deep breath and straightened up, letting go of her wound. She leant backwards into the water and wriggled her feet free of her boots. One leg came up to the surface, the wounded one trailed beneath. She reached out her arms and felt Sam’s hands reach hers, forcing the black-bag floats into her grip. Pressing her arms down into the water, she felt the buoyancy pressing back in support.
‘Keep flat against the surface and you’ll be fine,’ said Sam. He pulled her closer while fighting against the steady drag of the inrushing water. Then he propelled her past his stuck body, allowing his hand to stroke her cheek as she passed. ‘This is going to hurt a little, I’m afraid,’ he said.
Helen gritted her teeth. ‘What’s not hurting anyway? Get yourself free now, Sam.’
‘Not just yet,’ he said. The water was at chest level now. ‘Hold on to me I need both my hands.’ Struggling to keep a grip on the black bags in her hands, Helen used three fingers to catch into the collar of Sam’s jacket to keep them from drifting apart.
‘I can’t hold on for long, Sam; my fingers are starting to slip.’
Hands beneath the water, Sam unfastened his belt and desperately dragged it out of the restraining trouser loops. He brought his hands up and grasped her arm for a moment, taking the load off Helen’s struggl
ing finger grip. Once she had reset her grip firmly, he let her go and focused on fastening the belt round her wounded thigh. He pulled it tight, cutting off the blood supply above her bullet wound and drawing a cry of pain.
They both became aware that the cries of the men behind them had changed. Shock had given way to fear, and now to panic. Before kicking his feet free, Sam chanced a glance over his shoulder towards them. There was nothing he could do to help. They were further down the channel, and with their boots firmly stuck in the channel’s bed, the water was already washing over their heads. They were lost.
He filled his lungs, kicked his feet free from his boots, slipped onto his back, and brought his legs up to float on the surface. Then he shifted his grip on Helen so they were side by side and floating along the channel towards the beach, propelled by the inrushing tide. With every moment, the water level rose and suddenly there was no channel, just one vast expanse of inrushing water. They took a few moments to ensure the buoyancy bags were stable as the waters carried and pushed them.
Satisfied, Sam looked about and realised the swirl of the tide had carried them to less than fifty paces from the steps where they had first entered the beach. A good way further along he could see a little crowd gathered. The lecturer and her students were staring away out to the spot where Helen and Sam had last been seen. Sam stopped floating and started swimming. If he was quick, they might get out and away without being seen.
8
Saturday, January 11th
The manse’s main bedroom was on the first floor directly above the study. Its windows faced to the front. There, Helen was lying in bed, and for the first time since the shooting, she was feeling just a little hungry. She wanted to eat before telephoning her parents to report on the gunshot wound. Sam had already informed them, so at least she would not have to deal with the emotion inherent in breaking the news. Still, eating first seemed a good idea.
Elaine and Grace had already visited and were now down in the kitchen preparing food. Whatever it was, she hoped there wouldn’t be long to wait.
She heard a car draw to a halt in the driveway. Doors clicked open then banged shut.
The sound of the doorbell ringing carried up the stairs. More visitors.
Sam rose from the chair beside her bed and hurried down the stairs. There he answered the front door to a man and woman, both smartly dressed. The woman expressionless, the man smiling.
‘Sergeant Brogan,’ said Sam. ‘How are you? Good to see you. Thank you for coming, I know Elaine left a message for you the other day.’ He reached out a hand to greet the policeman.
‘It’s Detective Inspector Brogan, sir,’ said the woman, ‘and I’m Detective Sergeant Price.’
‘Wow, congratulations, inspector,’ said Sam, extending the shake with added vigour. Then he stepped to one side and waved Brogan past. Price followed close behind.
‘Thank you, though to be fair, DCI Wallace had me pretty well pigeonholed for the post before he retired. I think I would have had to perform really badly at the selection panel to have blown the promotion.’
‘I’m sure you got the job on merit alone. Helen will be delighted to learn your news.’
‘Well, I’m afraid it’s Helen I’ve come to see.’
‘What about? She’s upstairs in bed.’
Brogan looked almost embarrassed. ‘I’m sure there’s an explanation, but there are some questions I must ask her.’
‘Now isn’t really a good time.’
‘Now is the time we’ve got, sir,’ said Price. ‘Miss Johnson was treated for a gunshot wound yesterday afternoon at the Cumberland Infirmary, Carlisle. Gunshot wounds are automatically reported to the police by hospital accident and emergency departments. We’d like to speak with her.’
The sergeant’s sharp tone had brought Elaine and Grace to the kitchen door.
‘Who are these people?’ said Price.
‘It’s alright, sergeant; I know their names.’ Brogan acknowledged Elaine and Grace. Grace responded with a welcoming smile, Elaine with a curt nod. Brogan knew that was as good as anyone could ever hope for from the stern church elder.
‘Yes, sir, I know. But we must do what is required.’
‘And we will, sergeant, I’m sure.’
Sam thought he heard the sergeant tut to herself as she took a half step back, pursed her lips and folded her arms.
Price was aware her boss knew these people. Although she had been away on a training course the previous summer, she had heard all about how events had got so wildly out of control and knew too that DI Brogan and DCI Wallace, his then boss, had been in the thick of it.
After a few pleasantries, Sam led the police up the stairs to Helen’s bedroom where she greeted Brogan and his sergeant warmly.
‘Tell me, inspector … oh, that sounds very right, doesn’t it, Sam? Tell me, inspector, how’s my good friend DCI Wallace doing now he’s retired? Or will that be plain Mr Wallace now?’
‘To some, maybe, but he’ll always be my DCI, and he’s doing fine. In fact, I visited him between Christmas and New Year, and he was asking how things were with you all. I had nothing to report which he seemed pretty happy about. But here we are, and it seems you’re all back in the wars again. I’m hoping there’s a simple explanation?’
‘Yes, here we are.’ Helen smiled at Brogan and turned her attention to Price. ‘I heard you ask a question. What exactly do you want to know?’
‘All gunshot wounds are notifiable, Miss Johns—’
‘Call me Helen, please.’
Price nodded acknowledgement. ‘Yes, okay. Now, you’ve been shot; can you tell us what happened?’
‘It all happened so fast. I’m not sure I can tell you much.’
‘Well, let me help you. Yesterday afternoon you attended a hospital in England with a gunshot wound’—Sergeant Price glanced at her notebook—‘at 15.20 hours. Twenty past three.’ She looked directly at Helen who was now sitting up in bed. ‘The Cumbria Police have asked us to make some enquiries on their behalf. So, how were you wounded? Who shot you and why?’
Helen lay back on the bed. ‘I’m feeling a bit faint now. Can we do this another day?’
Brogan rested a hand on his sergeant’s forearm just as she leant forwards to repeat her questions with more vigour.
‘I’m sure we can work something out. Sergeant, this lady is clearly not able to answer questions at present.’
Price frowned slightly but remained silent.
‘Perhaps, I can answer for Helen?’ said Sam. ‘After all, I was there when it happened.’
‘Were you?’ Price turned her attention on Sam. ‘What happened?’
‘There’s not much to say. We were on the sands at Morecambe doing some environmental volunteering, picking up plastic from the beach. Suddenly, two men appeared, they were a little distance off. We had never seen them before that day, have no idea of their names. One of the men produced a pistol and shot Helen.’
‘Just like that? Out of the blue?’
‘Well, they must have had a motivation, but they didn’t share the details with us. They appeared on the beach and shot Helen. The tide was on the flood, so all of our concentration was focused on getting back to shore. We didn’t see the gunmen again.’
‘Really? They shot you and just vanished.’
‘I didn’t say vanished, just that we didn’t see them again.’
‘And why was that, sir?’
‘Do you know Morecambe, sergeant? The tide there comes in very fast. We were almost caught out by it. There was a gun fired, a racing tide and we needed to get to shore. Happily, in the chaos we were separated from the shooter. Perhaps they didn’t make it to shore. Who can know for certain? I’ll tell you though, if they weren’t strong swimmers, they were in trouble.’
‘Okay, sir. But tell me, if this shooting took place in Morecambe, why didn’t you go to hospital there? Why make over an hour’s drive north to Carlisle before seeking medical treatment?’
‘
A gunman had just shot at us. I wanted to get Helen away from the area. Once we were in the car, I just drove away.’
‘Why didn’t you report it to the police? Even when you got to Carlisle. I don’t understand.’
‘Shock, I guess. It’s scary to be shot at. Yes, shock.’
Brogan gave Sam a wry look. People could suffer shock after a shooting, but he knew enough about Sam’s background and character to know shock was not a likely response. He stepped towards the bedroom door. ‘Thank you for your time, Sam, you’ve given us answers to what the Cumbria Police asked. Thank you too, Helen. I hope you pick up soon.’
‘But, sir,’ Price protested.
Brogan waved her out of the room. ‘That’s fine, sergeant. We have what we need. You can feed back to Cumbria when we get back to the station. And you, Helen, you’re clearly not in a fit state to talk. We’ll come back in a few days to follow up again. In the meantime, take care of yourselves.’
Having seen Brogan and his sergeant off, Sam returned and sat on the bed beside Helen.
‘That was tricky,’ she said.
‘It was, but at least Inspector Brogan knows you … us. Knows we are on the right side.’
‘He’s nice. I’m glad he got Wallace’s job; he deserved it. But where are we now, Sam?’
‘In a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. We lost the photographs that Miles Bertram passed to us, so we are no further forwards in cracking the code to open the boxes.
‘There’s something else, Helen. It’s just as we feared; I think things went badly for Miles’ daughter. There was something on the news about a woman’s body being found in a burnt-out retirement bungalow in Morecambe.’
‘Patricia?’
‘Has to be.’
‘Oh no! Sam, it’s getting out of hand, all over again. We need to do something. What can we ever say to Miles?’
‘That’s going to be hard, poor old boy. Then we’ve the problem of the lost photographs. There’s only one option open to me now. I have to go to Libya.’
